“Who are you calling?”
“Herman. He should be home packing for his flight this evening.”
“You know you’re going to be broadcasting,” says Harry.
“I know.” I punch the quick dial for Herman’s cell.
It rings three times before the voice on the other end says, “Hello.”
“Herman. It’s Paul.”
“I know who it is. You need to talk, we should meet,” he says.
“That’s all right. Are you packed?”
He hesitates.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, I heard you. I’m almost done,” he says.
“Good. Listen, I need some help. First call and book me a ticket on the flight with you to Costa Rica this evening. There’ll be two of us going now instead of just you. What time does the flight leave?”
There is silence on the other end. Harry is looking at me, bug eyed.
“Herman. Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, I heard you.” The edge to his voice tells me he’s pissed.
“What time?”
“Seven thirty. Is there anything more you need?” he says.
I make him tell me the airline and flight number over the phone. Then I tell him to meet us at the office as soon as possible and to bring his bags because he won’t be going back to his apartment. We have one quick errand to run before leaving for the airport. I hang up and pluck the battery from my phone.
“Okay, so what was that all about?” says Harry.
“I wanted to give Rhytag’s people the airline and the time so they wouldn’t miss the flight,” I tell him.
“I don’t get it.”
“They’re going to have to lift the gate so Herman and I can get out of the country, and they’re only going to do that if they think I’m gonna lead them to Nitikin. We’re only going to get one bite at this. After that, none of us is getting out of the country. You can bet on it,” I tell him.
I am assuming that the FBI already knows that Herman works for us. This would mean that they have a check on his passport number in the airline computers. The minute he shows his passport at the airline counter, the feds would get word as to where he’s going. They would call ahead and put a tail on him at the other end. Herman and I have already talked about this. He has with him an electronic device so he can locate and remove any tracking devices the government installs in his luggage or on his clothing. Knowing Herman, he will lose any tail in a nanosecond in the hurly-burly of a crowded street or market in downtown San José.
“You think they have a hold on your passport?”
“That’s my guess, either the feds, Templeton, or both. For the moment I’m not worried about Templeton. The last time I looked, Homeland Security and passport control belonged to the federal government.”
“If Templeton has a hold and finds out you’re gone, the Dwarf is gonna go supernova,” says Harry.
“Kiss him good-bye for me. You’re going to have to stay here and keep an eye on Katia. Make sure the feds don’t get to her. Until we know what’s going on and what her involvement may be, we’ve got to hold them at bay.”
“What do you mean ‘we’?” says Harry. “You’re gonna be gone.”
“You heard the doctor. There’s no sense in both of us sitting here holding her hand while Templeton hones all the rough edges off his case to kill her.”
At this point we are invested heavily in Katia’s case, both emotionally and financially. We are past the point of no return.
“The answers we need are in Costa Rica, on those photographs and somewhere in Colombia with her mother. One of us needs to go. The other needs to stay here and hold down the fort,” I tell him.
“Fine. You stay. I’ll go,” says Harry.
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you leave, and Templeton for some stupid reason decides to arrest me, who’s going to keep the feds away from Katia?”
I can tell by the look on Harry’s face that while he may not like my answer, he has nothing to counter it. “Right!” He fumes.
“Listen, I’ll be back in a week, a quick stop in Costa Rica to get the photographs. We’ll ditch Rhytag’s federal bodyguard and on to Colombia. Depending on what we find out and what I see on those photos, I may be able to leave Herman to finish up alone, in which case I’ll be back sooner.”
“In the meantime, I’ll be dodging pygmy darts from Templeton’s blowgun,” says Harry. “And I won’t even be able to complain to you because you’ll be in another hemisphere without a phone.”
“Not necessarily. I may have a solution for that.”
“What, tin cans and a string?” says Harry.
“Something Herman told me about. It’s the errand I mentioned on the phone.”
THIRTY-SIX
It is a sinking feeling leaving Katia like this, alone and in trouble, thousands of miles from her home and family. But there seems to be no other choice. That the federal government now believes Katia to have been the target on the bus and the reason for the assault confirms what Harry and I already suspected. Whatever is playing in the background, the unanswered questions surrounding the Colombian photographs are central to Emerson Pike’s murder. Until we know what that is, it is impossible to adequately defend Katia on multiple charges of first-degree murder.
Before leaving San Diego I placed a call to my daughter, Sarah, who is away at college, to tell her I would be gone but without mentioning where, that I might be unreachable for several days, and to stay in touch with Harry. She was filled with questions, but I couldn’t answer many of them over the phone. She reminds me so much of Katia, the compelling reason for my involvement in the case. I make a mental note to visit with Sarah when I get back.
Herman snoozes in the seat next to me to the sound of the jet engines as we wing our way south. We are somewhere over the Gulf, two hours south of Houston, where we spent last night in a hotel before catching the early bird flight to Costa Rica.
If there was a hold on my passport, there was no sign of it either from TSA or the airline at the gate prior to boarding. Herman and I waited for the usual announcement to line up and show passports before they opened the Jetway. Two airline clerks checked the names on our passports against the names on the boarding passes and initialed each boarding pass with a colored felt marker. Herman and I boarded without incident.
We both saw what we believe to be two FBI agents just after getting on at Houston. The flight was full, not a seat to spare. They were closing the door when, at the last minute, two airline employees dressed in civilian clothes and packing scuffed-up black leather flight bags used their credentials to deadhead up front with the flight crew.
Herman nudged me with his elbow as one of them asked the flight attendant for the passenger list. The man took a gander at the list, and then glanced down the aisle. He made eye contact with me just for an instant before he looked away and then handed the passenger list back to the attendant. The two agents waited for the airplane door to be closed and locked before they entered the compartment up front and sealed themselves in with the pilots.
By now their colleagues back at the FBI’s San Diego field office should be going crazy. It was the errand we had to run before we left town, the one I mentioned to Herman on the phone. No doubt they followed us, Harry, Herman, and me, to the small electronics shop downtown, a place that Herman had originally told me about.